Everything In Its Right Place
by Dorminchu
Summary: "I can't protect you anymore." [Spoilers for 4x07.]


a/n: There were a couple details about Elliot's story in 4x07 that bother me upon reflection; primarily, the line:_ "What does this have to do with the window? No one was there except my father."_ This, coupled with his eventual anguished breakdown, gives me the impression he did not simply pick up a bat and escape through the window as he and/or Darlene claims.

The abuse is not depicted in detail but it's certainly implied, so your discretion is once again advised.

**EDIT: Fixed a couple inconsistencies in the timeline.**

* * *

_You've felt guilty about this your whole life._

_About telling people my secret._

_This anger was never at me._

* * *

It's been weighing on me ever since I got home.

Sitting at the kitchen table, I don't know how to begin.

Mom, I say.

She glances up from the sink, irritated. I look at her hands instead of her face.

Mom, dad's sick.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Stomach feels like it's been hollowed out, heat sinking into my face. But I can't stop now.

You know. I think he, uh. He needs help. You should talk to him.

"Why? He can call a doctor if it's serious."

Already know how she feels about that. Money is tight even without her cigarettes.

Dad told me not to tell. He doesn't want her to worry.

But I thought she would listen, at least. Darlene wouldn't understand; she's too young.

I shouldn't have said anything.

So I hunt down Darlene and suggest we try rebuilding Kevin McCallister while the weather's cold enough. She's all for it. I just want to get out of the house for a while.

I'm not really thinking about Kevin, though.

What do I say to Darlene? What's Dad going to do when he gets home?

Does Mom even care enough to tell him?

We should take a picture so we can show Dad, I say, fighting with myself to redirect. I've gotta get my camera.

"Sweet," says Darlene.

* * *

_What does this have to do with the window? _

* * *

Now we're in my room.

"Can I take the picture?"

Sure, I guess. Just don't drop it, I gotta get it set up first.

"I won't drop it," Darlene grumbles.

Stop when I notice something about the pictures left over in the camera.

I don't remember taking any of these.

"What's up?"

It's hard to breathe. Sudden wave of nausea overtakes me.

You know, I'll, uh, do it.

"I wanna see what's in the camera."

_No. _Deliberately distance myself from her, keeping the camera out of reach.

"What, is it something embarrassing?"

Shake my head.

You—you just can't, all right? You don't know how to use it yet, I don't want you breaking it.

Darlene huffs. "Ugh, fine. You don't have to be a jerk."

She's playing it cool, but she's probably hurt, I know. I shouldn't take out my anger on her.

Downstairs, the front door opens.

I stop when I hear Dad's voice. Back and forth with Mom.

He starts yelling; she says something like _"ask _him_, not me"_. Then it gets quiet.

Darlene's looking at me. I watch my bedroom door.

Footsteps travelling through the house, up the stairs.

He's going to kill me.

"Shit," says Darlene.

I can't get her in trouble. Take her by the shoulders, push her into the closet, shut the door. My hands are shaking.

Don't come out, I tell her. Not until he's gone.

She tries to ask what I mean but I think she knows.

It's gonna be okay, I tell her. Just stay there.

Grab the bat; aluminum, cold in my hands.

He's coming up the stairs. I don't have a lot of extra time to hesitate.

Breathing fast. Eyes lock onto the camera. Smash it first.

Then I start swinging at everything else in reach. Not thinking anymore.

Door opens. Freeze.

He doesn't speak, just stares at me. His eyes glitter with rage.

I shouldn't have stopped.

* * *

_No one was there except my father._

* * *

He crosses the space between us in two strides.

Emotion catches up with me; I swing wildly and miss.

No. No.

Don't FUCKING touch me.

Stumbling away from him, towards the window.

My back hits the cold glass. There's nowhere else for me to go.

* * *

_I can't protect you anymore._

* * *

He grabs me by the collar.

LET GO! I scream at him. Useless.

He pulls me away from the window. Throws me against the wall and knocks the breath out of me. The bat clatters to the floor, too loud in the small room. "What the fuck did you tell her?" he shouts.

* * *

_Why would I be scared of my father?_

* * *

I've never seen him this angry. Can't respond.

You're sick, I protest. You're sick and you won't get—

"Why did you tell her?"

He sounds hurt, but I saw what was on the camera. Silence is not an acceptable alternative.

Dad, I'm sorry, I say.

His eyes narrow. "Don't pull that shit with me, now. We had a deal."

Dad, please, I'm really sorry.

My voice cracks. I can't help it. I don't want him to hurt Darlene.

I don't want him to hurt me again. Reach out, try to hug him with one arm. He tenses up.

* * *

_I told you, he was my friend._

* * *

Without a word he grabs my arm with careless force, crushing me to his chest.

Flinch, twisting. Can't break free. All I can smell is his aftershave and the room. Nausea resurfaces and won't relent.

He runs his fingers through my hair.

"Son," he whispers. "It's all right."

He really means it. For a second, I convince myself of this.

* * *

_He was my _only_ friend._

* * *

Then he won't let go. It hurts, how tightly he's holding me. He shivers. Try to wriggle free but he grips tighter.

"It's gonna be all right, kiddo."

We're too close together. Start to panic but stop. Can't let it happen again.

Don't remember how I manage to break free. Maybe I bit him. Maybe I stomped on his foot. But he lets me go with a pained shout, just enough time to get away.

Stumbling, grab the bat off the floor, lashing out. I could really hurt him if I wanted to.

He wants me, not Darlene.

I don't really know why.

But I know how I can escape.

The window breaks with less effort than I anticipated and I watch in astonishment. So many shards of glass over the floor. My footsteps crunch frantically.

It's not that steep of a drop.

"Elliot." His voice is too quiet.

Don't touch me. I—I'll jump.

His eyes flash. "Get away from the—"

—I'll _do_ it, shouting over him, I swear I'll—

One foot on the sill, blinking back tears.

"Elliot—"

* * *

_ You're right. I was angry._

_ I was angry at myself._

_ I hated myself for doing what I did to you._

* * *

My father reaches for me but grabs the bat instead.

Don't remember if I really thought about what it would feel like to fall or not. Don't remember what it felt like, hitting the ground.

I just wanted to get away from him.


End file.
